A Daughter's Disgrace Page 3

  ‘Oh?’ said Winnie. ‘I’d have thought your Alison would have all the time in the world these days.’

  Cora hated it when anyone caught her out. ‘No, because we’re all going to be working every spare hour God sends to make sure our Hazel has a perfect wedding.’ She enjoyed the look of surprise on the other woman’s face. News must not have got round yet. ‘Yes, Hazel has got engaged to Neville Parrot, and we’re very happy for them.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a nice-looking bloke,’ said Winnie with approval. ‘Polite too. She’s a lucky girl.’

  ‘And he’s a very lucky lad,’ said Cora instantly. ‘Our Hazel could have had her pick, but it’s young love, and who am I to stand in their way.’

  The two women fell silent for a moment. Then Winnie remembered something. ‘Where’s she getting her dress?’

  ‘We haven’t decided yet,’ Cora replied. She wasn’t about to start discussing the finances of the big day, or the fact that the dress would have to be home-made with material from the market.

  ‘Well, you know that shop that does wedding dresses and evening wear down towards Wandsworth?’ Winnie asked. ‘Always got a lovely frock in the window? Well, they’re a girl short and Vera was going to see them about it, but then she got the job at Arding and Hobbs. That’s much closer of course. But would Alison be interested?’

  ‘She might,’ said Cora, trying not to seem too keen. ‘I’ll tell her about it. That’s if she hasn’t found something already, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Winnie, playing along. ‘Well, better not keep you. I’ll be off.’ She struggled to open the door against the freezing gale.

  Cora sighed as the door slammed shut. Winnie could be irritating and she had a massive blind spot when it came to her wayward daughter but it was good of her to mention the job vacancy. She would definitely make sure Alison went to see about it tomorrow. Even if it was very different to what the girl was used to, it couldn’t be that hard. She might even get a staff discount. Now that would be very useful. Smiling with anticipation, Cora pulled the big ledger back towards her.

  Next day Alison trudged down the hill towards Wandsworth, wondering if this was a good idea. She hadn’t had much choice. Her mother had come home full of Winnie’s suggestion and what a good thing it would be if she got the job at the dress shop. Hazel had leapt on it immediately, delighted at the idea of such elegant clothes at bargain prices.

  ‘But you don’t know that,’ Alison had protested. ‘They might not agree. They’d probably still be too expensive. And I haven’t even got the job yet.’

  ‘Don’t be such a killjoy,’ Hazel had flared. ‘Don’t you want me to look smart? I could get a wedding dress and a going-away outfit.’

  ‘Going-away outfit?’ This was the first Cora had heard of it. ‘Going away where? And why do you need a special outfit for it? You’ve got a perfectly good coat already.’

  ‘Oh Mum, that won’t be any good.’ Hazel pulled a face. ‘Everyone has a special suit to go away in. And of course Neville will take me somewhere, he just ain’t said where yet. I couldn’t possibly wear my coat. It’s not even new. I need something smarter. Did you see what Linda had on the other day? That was new this winter, and she didn’t even have anything special to wear it for.’

  ‘That’s because her Terry earns a decent wage,’ snapped Cora. ‘I keep telling you, but you don’t listen. When you get to Linda’s station in life, you can have all these luxuries. The rest of us have to get by as best we can.’

  Alison cringed as she remembered how Hazel had flounced out, leaving her to deal with Cora, who of course said it was all her fault. So now the pressure really was on her not only to get the job, but to get a big discount as well. Anything less would leave her mother disappointed and her sister furious.

  The hill down to Wandsworth was longer than she remembered. Maybe she should have taken a bus but until she knew when her next wage packet would be in, Alison didn’t want to spend anything more than she had to. She didn’t want to be accused of sponging off the household. At least she didn’t have to worry about the schoolboys around here, as it wasn’t likely she’d run into anyone she knew. She thought some people were looking at her oddly but couldn’t be sure as she avoided meeting their eyes. As usual, she withdrew into her shell, making no contact with anybody – the only way she felt safe. There was no point in going looking for trouble, especially when it seemed to find her so often.

  By the time she reached the dress shop, she had blisters on both feet. She stood outside, mesmerised by the frock in the front window. She’d never seen anything like it. A slim mannequin was placed against a background of deep purple velvet, which made the silvery whiteness of the frock even more special. It had a full skirt and the bodice was embroidered with tiny white stars, only visible when she looked very closely. Glancing down at her own dull skirt poking out beneath her gabardine raincoat, she felt drabber than ever.

  Gathering her courage, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The place smelt of flowers. Alison turned around and noticed a big display of roses arranged in a cut-glass vase.

  ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ said a voice, and an extremely elegant woman came out of the back room, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from her dark sleeve. ‘Can I help you?’

  Alison was at a loss for words. She tried to picture herself in the woman’s place, with eyebrows so finely drawn and hair sprayed into neat waves.

  The woman tried again. ‘Can I help you?’

  Alison wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Finally she said, ‘It’s about the job.’

  ‘The job?’

  ‘My mum was told you had a job going.’

  ‘Does she want to work in this establishment?’

  ‘No,’ Alison said. ‘It’s me. I need a job.’

  The woman’s expression didn’t change but she looked her up and down, very slowly. The silence seemed to go on forever. Finally she said: ‘You?’

  Alison nodded, blushing.

  ‘Have you any experience at this sort of thing? Are you familiar with this quality of product?’

  ‘No … not really,’ Alison stumbled, ‘but you see, my sister’s getting married, and she wants a wedding dress and we thought …’

  ‘I see,’ said the woman. She brushed her sleeve again, quite deliberately. ‘Well, I’m not sure that you’d be suitable. I don’t think you’re quite what my customers expect when they come for a fitting.’

  Alison wasn’t sure what to make of that. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  The woman sighed. ‘We sell only the finest formal wear. Our customers expect to be assisted by someone who exhibits everything that is associated with such products – elegance, finesse. To be blunt, when I look at you, that is not what I see.’

  Alison felt like running out there and then but forced herself to stand her ground. ‘I can get different clothes.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said the woman. ‘Or rather, yes, that would help, but it’s what you do with what you wear as much as how you wear it. What would be the point of giving you a couture jacket? You’d never notice the shape of it if you stand like that all the time.’

  ‘I know I’m too tall,’ Alison began, ‘but I can’t help …’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ cut in the woman. ‘Your height is an asset. Many would love to be as tall as you. But when you round your shoulders and stare at your feet all the time you ruin the whole effect. You must project style and poise. Style and poise.’

  Alison looked at her as if she was speaking another language.

  ‘So you see, my dear,’ said the woman, moving towards the door, ‘until you understand what I’m talking about, and I can see that you don’t, this is not the place for you. I must detain you no longer. I wish you luck in your search for more suitable employment.’ With that, she ushered Alison back onto the freezing pavement and shut the door firmly behind her.

  Alison was totally humiliated. It was one thing to be
insulted by her family, the local children and the men at the factory. That was bad, but she was used to it. This felt different. She couldn’t help her height. She couldn’t help having ugly, worn-out clothes. Staring ahead up the hill, she knew she’d have no choice but to drag herself back up to the top, in the useless shoes that weren’t made for walking, and which had been a waste of time.

  Close to despair, Alison knew that she should see if any other places around here had cards in the window advertising jobs, as she wasn’t down Wandsworth way very often, but she’d lost the will to search. She knew she couldn’t go straight home – even if Cora was still at work, her mother would be bound to hear from someone that her youngest had been in all afternoon and then there’d be a huge row and she’d be accused of not trying. Her mother and sister had a point – she was as useless as they said, and without the kind women at the factory nobody was going to make her believe otherwise. She couldn’t go to a café – she dared not spend the money for a cup of tea or a bun. There was nothing for it but to walk the chilly streets until it grew dark, and then she would have to face Hazel’s anger when she told her there’d be no cut-price wedding dress after all.

  ‘Drink up, Nev!’

  The news had got out about his engagement and all his mates from the paint factory who weren’t on the late shift had insisted on taking Neville to the pub to celebrate.

  ‘Commiserate, more like,’ said Dennis Banks, one of the older ones, who loved to tell them all about his success with different women every weekend. Neville grinned. He didn’t believe half the tales – some of them sounded physically impossible. But he wasn’t going to turn down the offer of a free pint.

  ‘Yeah, what d’you want to get yourself shackled for so young?’ demanded Nobby. Nobby was prematurely bald and had slightly bulging eyes, so Neville reckoned he hadn’t had too many chances of being shackled himself.

  ‘Nobby, ain’t you seen her?’ said Bill Stevens. ‘You should be so lucky. She’s a real looker, is Nev’s bird. Oh, she’ll tire him out, she will. He’ll be a shadow of his former self. But he’ll be happy with it. Won’t you, Nev?’

  ‘Never happier,’ beamed Neville. It was true. He’d had two and a half pints, he was engaged to the most beautiful woman in Battersea, and here were all his mates, wishing him well. They were in the smoky public bar, and things were just beginning to get raucous, but he didn’t mind. He felt as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  ‘Do you know what to do on the big night?’ Dennis went on. ‘Shall I give you some tips? I got lots of those …’

  ‘Yeah, like don’t let your sister go down a dark alley with Dennis,’ interrupted Bill, setting down his glass on the worn wooden counter. ‘Another, young Nev?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Nev ignored all the nudging and tried to focus on the pint before him as all the lights from the bar and brass from the surrounds seemed to be shining extra brightly. He wasn’t really worried about his wedding night, even though he hadn’t had much experience. His mates assumed because he was a good-looking bloke that he’d had plenty of women but it wasn’t true. He’d been cooped up sharing a bedroom with his younger brother for most of his life and there hadn’t exactly been many opportunities to break away, and God alone knew there wasn’t a spare inch of space at Hazel’s house. Even though she had a room to herself there was no chance of a bit of slap and tickle with her mother and sister living in such close quarters. Still, he loved her and she loved him, so what could go wrong? He certainly wasn’t going to be asking Dennis for tips.

  ‘Not in a hurry to get married, are you?’ Nobby asked. ‘No big rush, is there? You ain’t expecting the patter of tiny feet?’

  ‘Get away, Nobby.’ Nev pretended to be offended. ‘My Hazel’s a respectable girl. There won’t be no hurried wedding for her. She wants the best. And I’m going to give it to her.’

  ‘Oh, we’d all give it to her,’ Bill laughed. Some of the others joined in, especially those who appreciated Hazel’s finer points.

  ‘That’s enough, boys,’ said Frank Dalby, their foreman. ‘Leave the lad to have his drink. No call for insulting the lady. Time enough for insults when you’re married, and I should know.’

  Frank’s wife was famous for giving as good as she got, but nobody really had a bad word to say about Marian Dalby, who had been known to bake fruit cakes for her husband to take in to the lads on late shift, in case they got hungry as the hours of the night wore on. Nev thought that if his marriage was as happy as Frank’s then he’d have no cause for complaint. Even so, he couldn’t quite see Hazel cooking for his workmates.

  But that didn’t matter. Here was Dennis giving him a new pint, there were all his friends raising their glasses to him, and Hazel was going to be his wife. Neville Parrot was on top of the world.

  Chapter Four

  Hazel was on her lunch break from the café where she worked. She wasn’t really hungry, as she’d had a huge bacon sandwich after the breakfast rush had died down. ‘Can’t have you wasting away before your big day,’ her boss had said. Not much danger of that, thought Hazel. Still, she knew Neville liked her curves, and it was up to her to make the most of them.

  Now she found herself wandering towards the street market, which was busy with shoppers out for a bargain. Housewives crowded round the food stalls, some with small children. One boy, whose socks were falling down, reached for an apple and his mother immediately smacked him on the ear. ‘I’ve told you before,’ she shouted. ‘Put that down now.’

  Hazel shook her head and walked on. She hadn’t had many apples as a kid, or at least not ones to eat as a treat when they were out shopping. Cora made apple crumble, eking out the fruit with lots of oats, but there hadn’t been the money to spare for much else. Not that there had been much else available, thanks to the war and food rationing. She hurried away as the boy began to cry.

  There were several stalls selling clothing and bolts of material, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to one of them. ‘Morning, Hazel,’ said the stallholder. It was Joe Philpott, who’d known her family for years. ‘Is the good news true, then? You and Neville are getting hitched?’ He was a big man with a round face, and she’d never seen him anything other than smiling. How he did it, she couldn’t imagine, standing out here in all weathers, dealing with grumpy customers, half of which were always trying to get something for nothing. It was bad enough in the café but at least you were indoors, and always had the kitchen to escape to. Out here, there was no avoiding anyone.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘He popped the question and I said yes.’

  ‘Has he given you a ring then?’ Joe wanted to know.

  ‘Not yet, we’re going to choose something together,’ Hazel said hurriedly. She didn’t want anyone thinking Neville was too cheap to buy her one. ‘He didn’t want to risk getting the wrong size. I’d have been really disappointed if he’d done that.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ Joe agreed. He stamped his feet on the cold ground. ‘Will you be looking to do a spot of dressmaking before the day itself? Who’s doing your dress? Are you having bridesmaids?’

  Hazel bit back her irritation at his persistence. She was careful to keep her temper in check in public and liked to present a respectable front. There was no point in being rude to Joe, particularly if she might have to come to him for cut-price material in the near future. She desperately wanted a proper long white dress from a shop but since Alison had failed to get that blasted job, letting them all down, she knew it might not happen. Yet again she cursed her sister for being so useless.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ she said blithely. ‘We only just got engaged. We haven’t decided on many of the details. But I expect we’ll be needing something. Will you keep your eyes out if anything good comes along?’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ Joe assured her, smiling more widely than ever. He watched as Hazel turned and made her way further along the market. What a fine-looking young woman she was. That Neville was one lucky sod. He’d
better treat her right. God knows that family had been through terrible times when the girls were little. Still, look at Hazel now. It just showed that even if life dealt you an unfair hand, you could still come out fighting. That’s what he believed himself. It’s what kept him coming back to his stall on the coldest days of the year.

  Hazel paused at the hardware stall, trying to remember if her mother needed anything for the kitchen. A familiar face looked at her and she had to think for a moment who it was. Then it came to her – it was one of Neville’s colleagues from the paint factory. Bill, that was his name. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Congratulations, Hazel,’ said Bill, putting down the toolkit he’d been inspecting. ‘Good to know you’re making an honest man of that Neville at last.’

  ‘Someone’s got to do it,’ she said. ‘Not at work today, then?’

  ‘I’m on the late shift,’ Bill explained. ‘Pay’s better. Not so many distractions either. Cuts into your social life but I reckon it’s worth it.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Hazel. She pushed back a wave of her auburn hair. ‘Neville’s going to do more late shifts and overtime so we can save up.’

  ‘Yes, he told me he was thinking of doing that,’ said Bill. He glanced at his watch. ‘Nice to see you but must be going.’ He waved and moved on. If he had a woman like Hazel to go home to he wouldn’t be working lates. Neville must be mad, leaving a bird like that to amuse herself every evening. Still, it wasn’t his worry.

  Hazel noticed a set of knives going cheap and reached across to take a better look at them. They seemed like decent quality for the bargain price and she knew their old ones at home were in a sorry state, with loose handles and blades worn thin from years of sharpening. She’d take them back as a peace offering to her mum for having lost her temper in front of her niece. She was sorry about that now, and hadn’t wanted to frighten the little girl. Bringing these home would show she could think of others, not just of herself. Pleased at having such a clever idea, Hazel got the stallholder to round the price down still further and set off back to the café, carrying her bargain.